The Lost Ones
by Aria6
Summary: This is a story about the descendants of a group of drow and surface elves who were accidentally sent to a far off world, and what they are doing now... and how it will impact the Forgotten Realms forever.
1. Default Chapter

Many times, throughout the history of the Forgotten Realms, the drow and the elves of the surface world have fought. The first and greatest war sent the drow to live deep beneath the earth in the fey and terrible place known as the Underdark.  
Other battles have been equally devastating, although less well known. One such battle occurred in defense of a forest populated by Wood Elves. In the battle, a terrible magic was unleashed. In an instant, all of the drow army and most of the surface elves vanished for all eternity. But they did not die. They were only sent someplace else, another world entirely... one that had never seen elves, humans, or any race of the Forgotten Realms.  
This is not their story. This is the story of their decendants, after thousands of years...  
  
The female drow squinted at the heavens, regarding the sky with slitted eyes. It was a heavily overcast day, the kind of day drow preferred when they had to venture out in the daylight at all. Still, it stabbed at her red eyes like a lance.  
Curse that polymorph spell. She thought sourly. Until this day, sunlight had never given her pain. And it wouldn't, when she was allowed to return to her natural form.  
With a sigh, she lowered her gaze to look at the forces allied with her. First, she regarded her companies in this odd, perilous endeavor.  
Katari returned her gaze directly, and flashed her a grin that pulled out a reluctant smile in return. Katari was half-drow, half-pwikie, a race native to this world. She looked mostly drow, but it didn't fool anyone. Her eyes, double the size of any normal drow, were winsomely cute and utterly pwikie even if they were red. Her ears jutted out from her head in the usual way for all the races of this world, but nothing could be done to help that. Her hair had been dyed white for their enterprise, but normally it was a brilliant and somewhat clashing indigo. It had been pulled into a simple braid, unlike the usual gravity defying pwikie styles. Her outfit, though... it was the gauzy, silken fabric only the pwikie made. Scarves of red and white had been sewn together to make the skirt, and the bodice was a matching red, tightly fitted and appliquéd with black spiders, her one concession to their trip.  
Sighing softly, the female glanced at her next companion. Face blank, the male drow was gazing into the distance. Kelnozz's robes were plain spidersilk, severe and boring... but radiating magic to anyone who cared to look. The mage of their group, he had many translation and teleportation spells at his disposal. She hoped the latter wouldn't be needed. Under most circumstances, she wouldn't have trusted him a bit, but for this he would do his best.  
The last member of their delegation shifted anxiously from foot to foot, and the female noble sent her an annoyed look. A commoner by the name of Kwi, she was remarkably unhealthy looking for a drow. Her skin was a sallow shade of grey, and her teeth were streaked with grey. She was a specialist in ancient tongues and customs.  
That was what everyone thought, anyway. No anxiety showed on the female's face, but she wet her lips with a bright pink tongue at the thought. Kwi wouldn't survive a week if her true nature got out. The others in the group knew, and had been bound to silence by magic and clerical work. Except for her.  
There's no need to bind me, since I always knew... As a princess of house M'Bearl, first house of Nadrezzan, Arnes had been made aware of her adoptive mother's most secret asset.  
Adopted. I can still hardly believe she did it. Her hand strayed to the house symbol hanging from her neck. Arnes had always made herself useful to Matron Jerlyth, and they had even become rather fond of each other, but still... she's never expected to rise above favored ward in the family. Certainly her "sisters" hadn't expected it!  
Of course, the Matron hadn't made her heir. An elf breed of gold descent, she wouldn't have had a prayer of holding the house, even supposing she'd survived to take the position. Not likely, that. Her new siblings wouldn't have accepted it for a moment... only being ranked below the least of them had earned her even grudging acceptance.  
Arnes shrugged to herself, dismissing it. She'd have to get through the current mission before she could worry about house intrigue.  
That brought her mind to the people surrounding her. A full two score warriors for protection. She eyed them thoughtfully, measuring them, and was pleased. They were the cream of the warrior crop, last year students and mostly nobles, led by three of their teachers. It was the kind of escort any matron would be proud to have.  
And the mages... well, that made her more uneasy than proud. Two mages, one the cities Archmage, were putting the final touches on the spell that would send them through. There were also a half dozen other mages, extremely powerful, watching and waiting. They were there in case something went wrong.  
Something goes wrong! Arnes suppressed a slightly hysterical giggle. That much might in place... in case something went wrong. She'd heard rumors of the first gate. If the rumors were correct, the Archmage had barely escaped with his life and without two assistants. Since then, he'd been even more cautious.  
The clerical contingent was the smallest, but still strong. A high priestess of the Weaver, a high priest a Jaraten, god of Justic, and a cleric dedicated to Loviatar. Arnes dropped her hand to the whip at her best, feeling the rough, but comfortable hilt. It was nothing like the old tales said a priestess of Lloth would carry, but it was powerfully enchanted and carried a strong piece of Loviatar herself within its metal.  
Not that that's entirely a good thing. Arnes herself was a priestess of the Weaver, and a good one, but the Weaver didn't specialize in enchanting weapons. As the Mistress of Pain, the Handmaiden of Hurt, Loviatar's weapons were cruel and deadly. The long, thin whip was unbreakable and would respond to her telepathic commands. Truly an amazing thing to be given to a Priestess of another order, but there were many of Loviatar's followers in Nadrezzan.  
Arnes attention was jerked to the power circle, as the Archmage stepped inside and motioned to them to take their spots. She swallowed hard, and stepped over to the circle across from him, being very carefully not to muss the lines. Her companions were equally careful.  
Then, the chanting began. Arnes shut her eyes, and tried to shut it out. It meant nothing, and she needed to prepare for the mental shock of severing her connection to her Goddess. Where she was going, the Weaver could not touch her.  
With her eyes closed, she didn't see the fascinating blaze of colors that erupted around them. But she did have a brief sensation of speed, as though everything around her was crashing to a bruising halt.  
Then, there was nothing at all. 


	2. Menzoberranzan

I ...And when we arrived, I knew something was wrong immediately. The high priestesses managed to contain themselves, but the lesser clerics seemed on the verge of panic. I saw one young male call to a cleric for healing, and she promptly eviscerated him with her whip. Unusual, in the middle of battle, but not unknown... if it was done out of rage. What I saw on her face was fear.

We still would have won the battle, though, if those savages hadn't beset us. Out of nowhere, a band of what looked like gold elves hit us on the flank. The faeries were heartened for a moment... until they were attacked just as viciously.

It was insane. They didn't have anywhere near the numbers to take us, but they seemed to delight in their own deaths. They also seemed to possess resistance to magic, so they wreaked havoc before we could subdue them.

After the battle, I was able to examine a few of the bodies that were somewhat recognizable. The resemblance to gold elves was limited to the golden hair and amber eyes. In build they were much taller, stronger and had very odd ears. Longer than an elf's, they stuck out from their heads in a peculiar way.

After checking, I discovered I was almost the senior mage left. After taking care of that omission, I went to see my Matron to lend my expertise... /I 

Excerpted from the Chronicles of House M'Bearl

By Nym M'Bearl, 1'st Archmage of Nadrezzan

Hearing and sight returned in stages. Arnes moaned, and touched her head. She tried to sit, and the world whirled around her sickeningly.

Without thinking, she reached for healing power to steady her and speed her recovery.

I NO! /I The shock opened her eyes wide, then she closed them tightly. She had known it was going to happen, but it was still horrible. She had lost her connection with her goddess.

When the priestesses of Lloth, and the gods of the surface elves, had arrived in the new world, they had lost all power. Not only that, the abyss had been inaccessible by the usual enchantments, and so had the other planes.

Over time, the wizards and clerics had discovered that the other planes could be reached, but by different openings. And the gods of the old world might be unreachable, but there were new gods to worship. And obviously, it worked the opposite way as well.

Her hand fell to her whip, and the handle rubbed against her palm comfortingly. Arnes relaxed slightly at that feeling. It might not be the Weaver, but the weapon was still god touched and gave her a feeling of reassurance.

I I'll get by. /I Looking around, she could see Kelnozz sitting up and wincing. Kwi was already standing, peering around, and Katari was still unconscious, her skirts spread about her like fairy wings.

"Are you alright?" Kelnozz asked, his deep voice a bit raspy. Arnes nodded, then winced.

"Odach." Arnes replied. That wasn't a drow word. It was a verbal blurb borrowed by the Ozanuch people from the north, and it could mean anything from, "It's clear." "I did it" to "We're all still breathing." As an all-purpose affirmative, it was very useful.

"Good." That formality done with... Arnes had no delusions about his true concern... Kelnozz frowned at Katari, then poked her roughly. She whimpered softly, refusing to awaken.

"Let her sleep for a bit." Arnes said tiredly, taking Kwi's hand and pulling herself to her feet. She glanced around, taking in their surroundings.

I The Underdark. /I A thrill of excitement and fear touched her. This was the drow's ancestral home... the lightless tunnels, the fey beauty of this dangerous place. Arnes was captivated by it, sensing a wild and terrible beauty at work.

Kelnozz, a true drow, seemed indifferent. He was working on a spell, a Despardi enchantment meant to detect hostile intentions and set up an alarm. They would need to rest here for a time, and the old tales were quite clear on the fact that the Underdark was not a safe place.

I I'll find Menzoberranzan. /I She gestured quickly to the others, then closed her eyes to concentrate.

She had deliberately stored as many spells as she could before she left her home. Lifting up a hand, she opened it to reveal a beautifully carved blackwood spider. Tiny ruby chips made its eyes, and little pieces of mica had been added to the body to make it glitter gloriously.

Falling into a deep Reverie, Arnes let her mind search and find the Dreamweb. It was a natural ability for all Priestesses of the Weaver, and as she entered it, her mind took the form of a Dream Spider, one of her goddesses sacred servants.

The web was different. Wary of danger, Arnes stepped delicately along its strands, looking for the thin, misty strands of Reverie...

I So this is Menzoberranzan? /I Kelnoz gestured, glancing at Arnes. I I doubt we'll find anything here. /I 

Staring into the cavern, she would have cursed if she had dared. The city was a mess. Warfare had obviously broken out, and strange forces were running amuck. Thankfully, no one had noticed them. They were in the poorest part of the drow city. Even from here, they could see the remnants of fey beauty in the scarred city. It was a beauty like, yet unlike, their home of Nadrezzan. Arnes tilted her head, trying to decide what the difference was.  
Someone nearly stumbled into Kwi, then fell at Kelnozz's feet. He glanced down at the decrepit figure and sniffed.

I Disgusting. Should I put it out of its misery? /I  
I No! /I Arnes gestured jerkily, annoyed. She knelt down beside the figure, which appeared to be a young drow female.

A terribly thin female, ragged and decrepit. The rank stench of her was enough to turn the stomach, and there was a sickly sweet component that was unpleasantly familiar. The priestess hesitated, then gripped the thin shoulders, forcing the girl to turn onto her back.

Green eyes, shining with the redder hue of infravision, stared up at her pleadingly but hopelessly. The female expected no help from them, but had obviously gone beyond pride as well. Her features were sharp, but would be attractive enough when the girl was fed and washed. Her body was the same. But what caught everyone's attention was...

"Who would have done that?" Katari said, nauseated. Pus was dripping down the side of the girl's mouth and they all knew it meant a missing tongue. Without clerical magic, that kind of injury rarely healed cleanly.

Her hands were another matter. With a cleaner environment, the raw places that had once been fingers were healing cleanly. It didn't make the mutilation anymore pleasant.

"Katari, watch her thoughts." Arnes said softly, then turned her attention on the girl. "Who are you, dear? What happened to you?" The possible worth of a native who was indebted to them had occurred to her. And she did have scrolls of healing that would take care of even these injuries.

Of course, only a fool would trust a drow.

"Her name is Drisinil Del'Armgo." Katari murmured softly behind her. "Second house of Menzoberranzan." Arnes lifted an eyebrow.

"How did you end up like this?" Kelnozz stirred, also slightly curious. Being a daughter of the second house wouldn't necessarily save one from a terrible fate... but it was a bit odd to find such a female alive and mutilated.

"She authored a conspiracy to murder the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith."

"That explains it. I'm only surprised she's alive." Kelnozz murmured, peering down at the girl. "I suppose this was more amusing." Arnes nodded reluctantly. Even in Nadrezzan, such punishments were not unknown although death under torture would have been a more likely fate for such a daring, failed coup. She couldn't decide if that was more terrible or more merciful than mutilation and life.

"Drisinil, we're visitors from another city. We could use a native guide." Arnes ignored a sharp gesture of negation from Kelnozz. "We can heal your hands... but we'll only cleanse the tongue of infection, until you have proven your worth." That would let the girl hold a weapon and speak in the silent language, more than enough to get by. The female's eyes widened in disbelief and a dawning hope... at the most, she had expected a quick death. Not salvation.

I What are you doing? /I Kelnozz gestured sharply as Arnes glanced in his direction. I She will abandon us at the first opportunity. /I 

I I think not. /I Arnes kept her hands out of the girl's line of sight. There was no need to let her see them discussing her fate. I You will bind her to our cause with a mage contract, once we have the time. And until then, Katari will watch her thoughts. If there is deception... Kwi will take her. /I 

I Let Kwi have her now. It would be simpler. /I 

I No. Her abilities are not perfect. /I Arnes frowned, annoyed, and glowered at the taller male. I Are you questioning my judgement. /I 

I No, my lady. /I His gestures were exaggerated, but Arnes chose to overlook the sarcasm. The mission was too important for personal feuds and power plays.

Opening a bag of holding, Arnes pulled out several scrolls. It wasn't hard to find the right one, and she softly recited the spell.

It was a powerful spell, and a joy for someone of her skill to use. The results were even more joyful... soon, Drisinil flexed new fingers with an astonished expression. Spells of outright regeneration were extremely difficult and rarely granted by Lolth or the Weaver... but for their mission, they had as many as the temples could provide.

"Come, now. We should leave before we're seen." Menzoberranzan would be of no use to them.


End file.
